Becky and Nash couldn’t have come from much further corners of this country. By distance and by culture both, they grew up very far apart from one another. But yet here they managed to find themselves residing together in a household of their own. Or should I say house(s)hold?
Nash, a Louisiana native with a family history including both gypsies and fisherman, was used to a more humble existence as you might expect. Becky, was a connected daughter from what she told me, but said I shouldn’t ask for her maiden name, because it just wasn’t “worth the risk” as she put it. I hadn’t planned on asking anyway. She was noticeably italian but gave favor to the So-Cal accent she so clearly was brought up around.
Hugh: Thanks for having me out here today… But why the blindfold, and where are we?
Nash: Yeah sorry about that friend, it’s just the way we’ve got to roll here in the flat states.
Becky: And it’s like nothing to do with who my father is. You’ll see why when we get to the inside front yard.
Hugh: The what? I thought I was here to write a piece on a tiny house, but I’m standing in front of an enormous house, or more like a mansion? Sorry I’m just confused.
Becky: We call it a McMansion surprise. But only to each other really.
Nash: I love the look on your face dude, it’s not very often we let strangers into our little operation, it’s so much fun.
Becky: Look around you Hue, like… what do you see?
What I saw was a very typical midwestern upper class neighborhood. The lots were 5-10 acres, there were tons of trees and the houses, about 6 or 7 on this half mile stretch of road were too far apart to be able to yell for help. I was getting a bit nervous but the two of them were super chill, and wearing flip flops so I knew I could have at least outrun them if I had to. Anyway, it was a nice area, and in this part of the country it could have been one of a thousand just like it. Likely priced in the mid 400s after the market turned around, which for the midwest is pretty damn rich.
Hugh: I see a really nice pseudo-rural upper class suburban neighborhood. Is the tiny house out back?
They both start laughing as they wave me up the drive to start my tour of the outside. And let me tell you… nothing but exactly what you would expect in this type of neighborhood. Perfect lawn, big trees providing privacy from the road, a pool.
Nash: Pretty standard right. Now let’s go in the front door. And look at that… a pretty standard entry way.
Hugh: Yeah, the staircase is amazing and I see you’re building up to a surprise guys, I just hope it’s not a plastic covered room with Becky’s dad waiting in it.
Becky: Uhh… as if. (I could tell then Becky’s dad had never been here.)
Nash: Ok man just climb up the stairs and tell me what you see.
And so with suspicions growing I climbed; and what I saw was the greatest reveal I’ve ever had the pleasure of taking in. Looking back down towards the back of the house there were no rooms, no hallways, no second story at all. The entire McMansion was nothing but a facade. Inside of this house… was another yard. And in that yard, a tiny house. Pretty nice too and not weathered a bit. But that wasn’t the great part. No no NO! Not even close.
Becky: We meet 4 years ago at the Cannabis Cup. We were both judges and after a few weeks of texting and sexting… we decided, “fuck it. Llet’s take a road trip”.
Nash: I had this old trailer I was living in and even though it needed new everything, Becky really took to the small life. And she had a real nice Jeep we could pull it around in.
Becky: It was like a real nice vacation for poor people… no offence honey. But not like either of us ever had a real life to take a vacation from anything anyway, you know?
Hugh: So you hit the open road, fell in love, and hatched this plan to meet in the middle, in so many ways, and to start this “business”?
Becky & Nash: Totally!
Weed. Lot’s and lot’s of weed. If you didn’t figure it out yet, it’s WEED! Holy SHIT! The fake roof of this McMansion was covered in skylights and big ass bright LED lighting that made the outside look dull in comparison. And all around this tiny home were rows and rows of pot. The ventilation was so good I didn’t even smell it until I reached the top of those fake stairs. And to cap it all off there was a fucking slide that wound down two stories into the garden. Incredible. I’d send you a post card FOCK but, I don’t know where I am and I don’t fucking care.